Killing a Thursday night in the Mission with all your best friends, malt beverages still in their brown paper shawls, not homeless per se but rocking the poorer-than-thou attitude: “LET’S GET HIGH, BABY,” says the MySpace. Meet Girls, straight outa’ San Francisco.
Lust For Life, our home boys’ album opener, delivers an insanely concentrated dose of three chord hooks and straightforward lyrics, totally naked. Using his deep, emotional croon, singer/songwriter Christopher Owens spits the lines real manic like Costello himself. Shoot, there’s even a sick melodica solo in there! Straight into the bloodstream (so to speak) and instant gratification.
Lust For Life’s two music videos (count ’em: one with boobs and penises (super NSFW,) the other, more or less, without) depict the easy, happy, raunchy life that so many starving urban twenty-somethings dream to live. Meanwhile, the lyrics mourn the divide between these dreams and a much lonelier reality (“instead I’m just crazy …”) Clocking in at two minutes, twenty five seconds, the song has got the fleeting ecstasy of a truly awesome daydream down just perfect, tragically abrupt end and all. I’d like to meet the man who doesn’t hit “repeat” after this one.
If you like this, do check out their self titled LP and hit up their homecomings at the Swedish American Music Hall on November 20 and Bottom of the Hill the next day.
